Said the Spider to the Fly . . .
by The Elven Warrior
Summary: A tale about Falin M'or Woodshadow, a young elven warrior, who is taken prisoner by a drow raiding party. He now must endure a life as slave in the drow city of Ust Natha. He is alone and freindless until he meets an unlikely (and perhaps unwilling) ally
1. Chance Encounters

:: Chapter 1 ::

Chance Encounters

~~*~~

A screaming wail suddenly split the otherwise hushed calm of the fast approaching twilight.

With a startled yelp Tertiam Nailo lost his grip on the small earthenware bowl in his hands, which was filled to the brim with piping hot venison stew that had just come off the camp fire. As a result the molten stuff spilled all down into his lap. The cleric of Corellon Larethian let out a loud cry of pain and disbelief as he shot to his feet, which nearly drowned out the sharp din of more frightened screams and the obvious sounds of fighting that ensued off in the distance . . . nearly.

His supper forgotten, Falin M'or Woodshadow swiftly shot to his feet, piercing gaze swinging about to stare into the direction of where he could hear the battle taking place. His hawk-like vision sifted idly, almost lazily through the darkened forest of Cloakwood, the far off distance further shrouded by a swirl of mist that had rolled in with the setting sun . . . 

Currently he and Tertiam were near the town of Dentharel, a tiny little hamlet just off the Sword Coast. Instead of risking the wrath or prejudice of the simple human farmer folk by making their presence known, the two world-weary elves had opted to stay away and rough it out in the wild. Apparently someone else had _not_ come to that same conclusion. Though Falin as of yet couldn't see any actual signs of danger or distress, the elven warrior's finely tuned ears could easily hear it. He caught the sounds of metal clanging on metal, the loud shouts and yelling of many fighters and then the distinct, frightened wailing of women and children.

That made his decision easier for him. 

As Falin M'or bent to swiftly recover his weapons and armor, behind him Tertiam began to curse vehemently, furiously doing his utmost to slap the still stinging stew off of his thin black silk pants and costly gold cloak.

"Dammit!" he snarled low, "_Always_ when I'm trying to eat!" The pale-haired cleric released a loud growl then, and whirled to face in the direction of where the skirmish could easily be heard. "Haven't you people ever heard of _common courtesy_?!" he yelled out to no one in particular, knowing damn well that whomever it was wouldn't be able to hear him. Otherwise Tertiam probably wouldn't have spoken.

The cleric wasn't a cowardly man . . . but the more battles he could avoid the better.

Wordlessly Falin tossed the smaller elf his long sword and crossbow and then, armed with his own enormous greatsword, the taller warrior led his long-time friend and companion headlong into yet another fray. 

As the both of them ducked and dodged through the greenery in the pursuit of justice and courage, Falin couldn't help but smile at himself. Here he was, newly titled with lands and riches far beyond his wildest imagination, gifted to him for his great deeds in the aide of Myth Drannor . . . And yet he was still rushing heedlessly and recklessly off into some unknown conflict, having no idea what the consequences of his actions might be. One would think that with a hundred and forty-five years beneath his belt, he'd have learned better.

Apparently not.

Falin and Tertiam kept up their fast pace toward the pale orange horizon, never breaking a single stride as the both of them easily cleared the various fallen logs and small feeder streams that haphazardly littered the forest floor. The closer they got, the more it began to nag on Falin's mind that something wasn't quite right . . . 

They were nearly upon their destination before the tall warrior realized that the orange glow he saw was not coming from the setting sun, but instead from the homes and buildings in front of him that were now very brightly ablaze. 

The low din of faraway battle had now also grown into a loud roar of utter chaos. The two adventurers broke through the tree line at nearly the same instant and skid to a halt out into the clearing beyond. They both glanced this way and that, trying to figure out what was going on through the insanity that seemed to be reigning supreme. Various people of seemingly random ages and gender were fleeing back and forth, some screaming and crying, every one of them deathly afraid. But of what? 

Tertiam saw them first and gasped aloud when he did, then grabbed at Falin's cloak and tugged.

"By the horns of Silvanus!" he hissed "Falin, _look_!" 

The smaller elf pointed with a finger to the large knit of dark-skinned beings currently beating up and throwing to the ground a much smaller group of human men, making short work of running the hapless fellows through with their curved blades. Falin's eyebrows drew down fiercely at the sight of such blatant cruelty, yet still managed to take note of the foreign-looking armor that the male creatures wore and the pale locks that adorned their heads through his mounting fury.

"Drow!"

Unfortunately, Falin's verbal realization came out more of a shouted challenge to the ebony warriors . . . and the challenge did not go unheard. The both of them jerked slightly when the entire troupe of ten Drow abruptly spun around in their direction. The lot of them released collective growl of hatred, raising their weapons and fanning out, preparing to charge. 

Falin let loose a faint, grunting groan as he eased back into a fighting stance, raising his great sword in preparation to meet the enemy. Tertiam, eyes wide, gulped slightly and muttered something along the lines of "ah, crap," before he eased himself behind his stronger friend and readied his crossbow.

Falin could only suppress a laugh. This was what he did. It was what he was meant for. A warrior forged and tempered in the heat of battle, washed in the blood of countless foes, he lived and died by the sword. "Well . . . not the dying part at any rate," he chuckled to himself, nearly as an afterthought.

The Drow warriors waited not another second longer before they simultaneously and with practiced ease charged straight at the duo. Tertiam realized that he had only seconds before his crossbow would become useless, and so took careful aim at one of the closer ones. He let loose the bolt with a loud _thwack_! and watched with measured satisfaction as the steel shaft slammed home into the right eye socket of the Drow. He grinned triumphantly as the shot killed the dark-skinned elf before he even had the chance to scream, the deadly tip burying deep into the drow's brain.

_Hah! Top that, Falin_, he thought to himself as he unsheathed his long sword from its scabbard.

Falin, who had seen the entire exchange, smirked and soundlessly replied to the silent challenge, _Gladly_. He dropped his far leg back a bit and crouched down slightly, eyes narrowed, waiting for his opportunity to strike. And, just as he had hoped, one of the Drow became a little too overeager to kill a surface elf and had sped ahead of his companions. Falin's smirk returned tenfold.

"Perfect." That word, nearly purred with an almost catlike satisfaction, would be the first, last and only thing that the Drow would ever hear the elven warrior say.

Falin quickly lunged forward with a loud war cry to meet the Drow warrior still charging full tilt in his direction. The dark elf's reflexes warned him that a powerful force would soon be slamming into him and he braced himself accordingly. The Drow did not expect, however, that the wily surface elf had something else entirely up his armored sleeve. Falin jerked back right at the last second, and this set the drow's charge horribly off balance. The pale eyes widened as the dark elf stumbled, then they widened even further as he was therefore unable to keep from impaling himself upon Falin's greatsword.

The rest of the Drow party reached Falin just the last signs of life slipped from their companion's body in a strangled gurgle. In one fluid motion Falin tore his enormous blade from within the gut of the now-dead raider, shoving it away from him with a boot to its chest before he used his forward-stepping motion to swing down upon the head of another fighter. 

The new foe attempted to parry the descending blade, but Falin moved with a nimble grace and speed that seemed best suited for a rapier, not a greatsword. Though unlike a rapier, however, the greatsword cleaved through the drow's skull with relative ease, the enchantments on the blade crackling with a holy energy. Falin barely had time to blink before he almost met a similar end, but ducked out of the way just in time, allowing the dark blade to pass through the area where his head used to be.

Two down . . . but they were still greatly outnumbered. Falin and Tertiam had been lucky so far . . . Unfortunately, luck was a two-sided coin.

Tertiam couldn't help but watch in awe at the speed, power, and sheer combat experience of his friend. He had seen Falin fight hundreds, no, thousands of times before and yet no matter how many times he witnessed the feat, Falin never ceased to amaze him. Tertiam blinked slightly and then abruptly pulled himself out of his stupor with a slight shake of his pale-haired head. The time for admiration could come later, he quickly decided as he suddenly joined in the fray, loosing the long sword from the scabbard on his hip. He knew he couldn't hold his own in combat like his companion could, but he could at least make the Drow contend with two targets instead of one, which might give Falin the upper hand they so desperately needed.

Falin dodged another cut of a sword, deflecting the serrated blade from the course it had for the vulnerable wall of his stomach with the flat of his own sword. With only a split instant to reflect the battle-hardened warrior saw his opportunity and went for it. He followed through with the swing that had blocked the sword, bringing the blade in a low arc at the slightly off-balanced drow's right leg. In the next instant the Drow found his leg severed at the thigh and he let out a howl of pain to announce the fact. Yet the drow's cries were abruptly silenced as Tertiam stepped in and thrust the tip of his longsword straight through its throat. Gurgling blood and clutching hopelessly at his neck, the Drow dropped to the ground and then quickly passed onto another plane of existence.

Falin and Tertiam began to feel the effects of fatigue as the minutes of continuous fighting ticked on. 

_We can't keep this up for much longer_, were Falin's thoughts as he prepared to face off with yet another Drow. His body was starting to falter with fatigue, sore from the places where the occasional lucky swing had gotten past his defenses and left their mark upon the warrior. The inevitability of this echoed like a death knell in his brain, giving the elf a slightly desperate look. Tertiam was equally affected if not more so, the cleric's state of fatigue far more severe. They managed to somehow fell another two of their cursed kind but that still left five more of them. They had only killed half their number and it was doubtful they would be able to stand through the second half. Even as this thought crossed through his brain, Falin was caught off guard by another lucky strike . . . but this one did more than just scrape him. 

White-hot pain lanced through his shoulder and seemed to jar down through his whole body as the drow's longsword hit home, ripping through flesh and tendon in his shoulder and slicing down clear to the bone. Falin M'or screamed aloud with the pain and desperately tried to swing at his opponent but it was no use. The Drow had severed the muscles needed for such an action, rendering Falin's left arm hanging useless at his side. 

Before the surface elf could act again the same Drow pulled back with his longsword and then swung it towards him. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion to Falin . . . and the elf couldn't react in time to prevent the fist clenched tight around the hilt of the long sword from slamming full-force into his face. Falin's head snapped back with the force of the blow and he felt himself falling backward. He heard Tertiam scream his name and then, darkness consumed him.


	2. Survival

****

:: Chapter 2 ::

__

Survival

~ ~ * ~ ~

Pain . . . that's all he could comprehend. There was nothing but fiery agony in Falin's world now, an agony that lit up his whole left side in what seemed to be never-ending torture. Because of this, it was quite difficult for him to get a handle on much of anything else. He had the faint impression of movement, though he himself wasn't moving. And darkness as well . . . wherever he was now it was very dark . . . hell perhaps?

He wasn't far from the truth . . . .

Falin tried to move or speak or do something but it was like he was frozen, unable to do anything but exist in this surreal half-being. He heard scraping noises . . . echoes . . . and smelled the dankness of stale air and earth. And then he heard voices . . . whispers . . . but he couldn't quite understand them . . . only catching bits and pieces . . . .

"Five of us killed . . . ."

"How much . . . . "

"Badly injured . . . no good to me dead . . . ."

" . . . fighter . . . pits . . . ."

"Sold . . . ."

Falin used up every ounce of strength he yet possessed trying to fathom and piece together the words, to try and make his foggy mind comprehend and understand them. So much so that he was suddenly unable to keep himself from suddenly blacking out once more into the land of blissful night.

~ _ ~ _ ~

The next time he awoke it was much different. Falin came to full, complete awareness with a sharp jolt, crying out slightly and wrenching himself back in self defense, as of yet having no earthly clue as to what had happened or what was going on. Blinking rapidly he tried to force his eyes to peer through the heavy darkness that enveloped him now. His elven vision quickly compensated, though still it was a trial to make things out clearly.   


Apparently he was in some sort of room, plain with stone walls, floors and ceiling and only one doorway out, which was currently shut and bolted with heavy locks. He was alone, it seemed . . . and chained to the wall he was sitting propped against. His armor was gone, as were all his possessions. His neck, ankles and both wrists now sported heavy iron collars attached to fat chains that fed through a network of rings molded into the very stone itself and he could feel the cold iron press against his shirtless body.

That realization made Falin wrench again with surprise and a touch of fear, and this time his rash movements were quickly followed by his hiss of abject pain. His left side still pained him greatly. Damned Drow . . .  


The Drow! Tertiam! All at once everything came back to him.   


Falin M'or quickly straightened up and threw his gaze back and forth around the room once more, but not a trace of his elven friend greeted his frantic search. Confusion and worry creased his brow then. What had happened to him? Why wasn't he dead? Where was Tertiam? 

"What e'er yer lookin fer, lad, you'll not find it here. That I can guarantee ye."  
Falin jerked to his left, to where a pile of old and dirty rags lay bunched onto the floor. As he watched they stirred, and then straightened with a loud rustle and the faint clanking of more chains.   


The elf lord soon found himself staring into the cold black eyes of what appeared to be a dwarf, though this one was unlike any he'd ever seen. A beard, a dwarf's pride and joy, was suspiciously absent from this one's face. The squared features were worn . . . haggard. Though from more than pain or distress, his piercing black eyes also flashed with abject hatred, so much so that Falin was briefly taken aback and unable to respond.

The dwarf continued cryptically with, "There is naught to be had here in the Pits but death, pain and despair."  


"Where am I?" His own voice sounded foreign to Falin's ears, hoarse and weak. The dwarf snorted without much humor, face growing even colder if such was possible.

"Where else would a spider take it's fallen prey, but to the belly of it's nest?" he quipped, then sneered. "Ye've fallen into the deepest pits of hell lad; the Underdark."  


"NO!"  


Falin's cry was more of disbelief than it was actual fear. He had heard about the Underdark. Hell, any adventurer worth his salt had heard of the place . . . The Underdark, from the stories he had heard, was reputed to be a harsh and unforgiving realm where only two powers ruled: survival and the destruction of your enemies. Perpetually dark in most regions, the Underdark was filled with ghastly creatures, the stuff of children's nightmares that had long ago developed darkvision or enhanced senses to compensate for the inky blackness that was their home. They often became intolerant of true light as a result of the adaptations. That fact struck Falin as odd, because HE could see. He couldn't see very WELL, even with his keen elven eyes, but he could see none the less.

Falin tried to stand up. Immeasurable pain washed over his body then, as he felt the agony of several broken ribs pierce into his innards. The elf quickly felt himself out of breath. His head swam with a white light and he could do nothing but collapse back onto the floor and then lay as still as possible and pray that the fiery pain would leave him soon. When the buzzing in his ears finally subsided, he was greeted with the sound of deep, raucous laughter.

"HAH!" his companion barked again then wheezed, "Oh, I haven't laughed like that in years!" 

The beardless dwarf continued his fit of laughter for a good while longer, much to the dismay of the proud elven lord. Falin forced himself back into a sitting position against the wall and then glared off into another corner, ignoring his still cackling cellmate as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

_Ok, how did I get from Cloakwood to the Underdark?_ Falin pondered to himself. _There HAS to be a logical explanation . . . I didn't just magically appear here for no damned good reason. _

The dwarf's laughter eventually subsided, and when it did he looked over at the now brooding Falin. As if the creature had heard Falin's unspoken question, he answered with, "Ye were taken' prisoner on a Drow raid, lad. Master Ilmiryn bought you shortly after. Ye know, I overheard a couple of the guards talkin'. Seems ye killed five of 'em on your own. That's no small feat. That's probably why master Ilmiryn bought ye."

"Bought?" That word echoed inside Falin's head like a loud clarion. "I am a slave, then?" Falin asked in a low, almost miserable tone after a few moments of strained silence. 

Once again, the dwarf's laughter filled the small room. It took a while for him to stop again, but when he did he answered, "SLAVE? Ye seriously think they would waste such raw fightin' talent with a SLAVE'S duties? Naw, naw. Me boy, you should be right proud of what ye've become." 

"And that is..." Falin added, a touch of annoyance in his voice. 

"Why, ye've become a gladiator o' coarse!"


	3. Learning the Trade

****

:: Chapter 3 ::

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Learning the Trade

~ ~ * ~ ~

"Gladiator?"

Before Falin could get his explanation, the two were interrupted by the heavy door suddenly being unlatched from the other side and then swinging wide with a loud and hissing groan. 

Falin tensed as a figure paused just outside of the doorway for a moment, completely concealed in the inky blackness beyond. And then slowly prowled its way inside the tiny chamber. For a moment Falin was unable to discern anything at all, the figure seemingly swallowed up by the darkness that permeated the air around them. But then suddenly the figure lifted one hand and murmured a word of magic, and then there was a bright flash of light that nearly blinded the elf. Falin hissed slightly in pain and turned his head away, his eyes overly-sensitized to the dark and now unnecessarily pained by this unexpected action. 

He had a feeling it'd been purely intentional, as well.

Once Falin could see again he turned his head back to their "guest," and realized that it was a Drow male who was now, at the moment, controlling a bit of bright blue faerie fire around his person. This revealed him to be a tad on the small and slender side, common for most elven kind. And yet he was also tempered with plenty of muscle too, enough to do more than a decent amount damage if the need arose for it.

The visible dark skin of his face, chest and arms were also a fine patch-work of white and pink old wounds, nearly faded scars, a testimonial to the type of life that he'd led in his younger years. 

The Drow first fixed his crafty ice-colored eyes onto the dwarf, who returned the look with a blast of pure and unadulterated hatred. The chiseled ebony face then eased into a wide and sneering smile.

"I'm amazed there was actually a face under all of that horse hair, dwarf. The shave did wonders for your features, I think."

The only response the dwarf gave to that was a loud and entirely displeased growl that might have had words beneath it though Falin was too far away to discern them. The outburst caused the drow's smile to widen and he even chuckled a bit, a rather unpleasant occurrence . . . it seemed to have a completely opposite meaning than humor . . . . 

The Drow suddenly turned his narrowed eyes onto Falin, then. The surface elf tensed slightly, then scowled and drew himself up as much as his injury and fatigue would allow, expression settling into a deep-set look of stubborn pride and stark determination. This seemed to "amuse" the drow even more, causing him to release that almost raspy chuckle again.

"I've heard some interesting rumors about you, elf," he announced. "A raiding party was taking care of some annoying surface scum and then they were suddenly set upon by a couple of elves." 

The drow folded his arms behind his back and began pacing back and forth, not looking directly at Falin yet he still had the uncomfortable sensation of being utterly and completely scrutinized from every angle imaginable, as if he were being picked apart and sized up in a single motion.

"Apparently one of the elves weilded a six foot greatsword as if it were a mere feather and managed to, practically single-handed, fell half of the party before they were able to disable him." Falin smirked.

"It's a damn shame I couldn't get more of you cave-dwelling bastards." 

From across the room there was a distinct snort of surpressed and faintly stunned laughter. The convulsing dwarf was ignored however, the drow pinning Falin to the wall with an entirely calculating look. "So it's true then, elf?"

"Pretty much, yah." A fine white brow twitched and Falin scowled. "My friend, he killed at least two of them. Which brings me to something else, where is he?"

The drow hesitated a while, merely staring down at Falin with that closed but crafty gleam in his icy eyes. Then he gave his humorless smirk once more.

"I bought you off of the raiding party when they returned, there were no others. His dead flesh is no doubt rotting in the heat of your accursed sun as we speak." He chuckled at Falin's sudden pallor. "Which brings me to something else," the drow parroted with a hardening expression. "I am Ilmiryn. You are now my property, surface elf, to do with as I please. And if you wish to live long, slave, you'll do what I say when I say it."

"And if I don't?" Falin shot back stubbornly. "You'll kill me? It's not as if death is all that much worse than this."

The drow glared, then approached. Before Falin's exhausted body could react, the obviously former fighter reached up with one foot as swift as lightening and then slammed the heel of his boot deep into Falin's wounded shoulder. 

Falin released a startled scream of agony as he was suddenly being pinned up against the wall, which only raised in pitch and volume when the drow mercilessly twisted and dug his boot heel first to one side, and then the other. The gash was completely torn open again and a fresh wave of warm, sticky blood oozed from it and flooded down his arm and chest. Falin could scarcely breathe the pain was so intense. It completely blocked out the sting of when he reached out and snatched a fist full of Falin's blonde hair soon after, jerking his head back and forcing him to look the Drow in the eye.

"Trust me, surface elf . . . there are _far_ worse things than death! And I swear to Lloth that everyone of them will be visited upon you _without mercy_ do you defy me again!"

Falin tried to resist the insurmountable pain that had washed over him. It was a lost cause, however, as he finally gave into the blackness.

~ ~ * ~ ~

A sharp sting of pain in his ribs snapped the young elf from out of his slumber. He had been "training" for three weeks. Or had it been four? It was hard telling any passage of time in this place, and none of the drow would have told him if he asked, so he didn't bother. "I said, WAKE UP, SLAVE!!!" shouted an all too familiar voice which was followed by another shot to his ribs. Falin couldn't remember how many times he had done this routine: wake up, eat a pitiful meal, train in the pits, eat another pitiful meal, go to sleep. Falin rose up, expecting another day of "training." Ilmiryn seemed to hear Falin's silent complaint. "Not today, surface-elf. Today, we put all that training to the test."

Falin eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your first match is scheduled for today, and I expect you to win. If you disappoint me, I expect you to die."

~ ~ * ~ ~


End file.
